


The Most Arduous Hunt for a Royal Consort

by Ripki



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, Duke Hammond the Wedding Planner, F/M, Humor, Romance, craziness, some angst because I can't help myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ripki/pseuds/Ripki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a slight misunderstanding, Queen Snow has three months to find a suitable royal consort. Cue in lurid suitors, maddening counselors, infernal wedding preparations and one missing huntsman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Most Arduous Hunt for a Royal Consort

PART I: The Unexpected Betrothal

 

The night that the Queen’s Council announced Queen Snow White’s betrothal to Marquis Plumpethdor (or Plump as he was better known, for his rather well rounded belly and chubby cheeks) at the Samhain feast, the Huntsman slipped quietly out of the castle. His departure did not raise anyone’s attention, for people were rather used to his unexpected comings and goings. However, had they seen him sneaking out of the great hall, they would have still pursed their lips in distaste, for it showed a most vulgar disposition and horrible manners to leave in the middle of the queen’s feast. Then they would have wrinkled their noses, thinking that they were not at all surprised; after all he was a huntsman, and even though he had admittedly washed himself for the occasion and looked very dashing in his leather breeches and dark tunic, there was still something scruffy and wild about him. 

 

No one observed the Huntsman leave the hall though, for the people were quite astonished by the sudden news and too busy staring at their queen (the most reverend and cherished, long live the Queen!) half-choking on her wine. As it was, the news had astonished the queen too, for it was the first time she ever heard of her betrothal. And so the rest of the feast was cut rather short, for the queen had an urgent business to take up with her most esteemed counselors and the third course (roasted mutton with mint sauce) was regretfully left unserved. 

 

-o-

 

Snow stormed into the Council’s meeting chamber and gave the waiting counselors _the glare_. Someone whimpered. 

 

“Betrothal?! Have you taken leave of your senses?” She felt most annoyed, for she had rather looked forward to the roasted mutton with mint sauce. “And to Marquis Plump – Plumpethdor!”

 

“But Your Majesty, you agreed –” Count Tuppence tried to explain from behind the other counselors, who all huddled together at the other side of the room, the large oak table between them and their most gentle queen. 

 

“I did not!” Snow exclaimed, not at all childishly. But the truth was that at the last council session she had somewhat lost her focus and her thoughts had drifted among all the talk of what would be appropriate color for the new banner Duke Gherkin was designing in celebration of his upcoming marriage, would light green or powder blue be suitably grand, and whether his bride Lady Sonia would wear silk at the wedding, and her thoughts had turned into more pressing matters, namely her afternoon ride with Eric. The man had won their race two times in a row, and Snow was hardly going to let him win a third time. And so as she had contemplated ways in which she could subtly outwit the Huntsman, she might have hummed and hawed and nodded her head at the most unfortunate moment. 

 

“Marquis Plumpethdor is very wealthy,” one of the counselors squealed, but Snow could not tell which; the sound came from somewhere behind Lord Budgy. “And most importantly, he is healthy and full of vigor.” Snow had seen Marquis Plump demonstrate vigor only towards his dinner, which he consummated with amazing zealousness. One time, Snow had caught him fondling the roasted hind leg of a deer most disturbingly. 

 

“He would make a great royal consort,” Lord Trombone said, his nasal voice coaxing. “He would certainly seed healthy royal babies.”

 

Snow, who didn’t want to imagine let alone witness Marquis Plump seed anything, shuddered and took on her most serious royal expression and said in her most solemn queen voice, “I will not marry Marquis Plump – Plumpethdor.”

 

“But the time! It’s running out!” Lord Budgy sputtered and started his familiar spiel of how getting with a child got more difficult with age – it had been proven – and how childbearing was more dangerous to older women – also very much proven – and taking into consideration how slim the queen’s hips were –

 

“Yes, yes, I know all of that,” Snow was quick to cut him short, knowing from past experience that listening to it all would only end in her losing her temper most spectacularly and Lord Budgy shedding hurt tears for the rest of the week. She had heard the same speech every year she had sat on the throne. However, somehow it was different to hear it now at the age of twenty-five than it had been at the age of seventeen. Suddenly Snow felt very old. 

 

“It’s true that the continuity of the royal line is a very serious matter,” Duke Hammond remarked. He had silently watched the exchange of words and now felt it safe to offer his opinion. “Stability is what we should aim for in all things, for it brings with it contentment and happiness, things which we lacked for so long.” Duke Hammond paused and let the effect of his words sink in. He was rather pleased with himself; he had rehearsed the sentence for weeks and had sought a suitable occasion to say it. 

 

“And it might just be, that not only the people would feel contentment and happiness,” Count Tuppence braved to suggest, “For surely a companionship and trust that a marriage can offer would ease the heavy burden of wearing the crown.”

 

Then they all looked beseechingly at Snow, willing her to see how right they were and how her getting married was not only prudent and imperative, but the very lifeline of the kingdom and an essential prerequisite of everyone’s happiness and success. Snow was not a fool; as a queen she had learned when to do things her own way and when it was better to acquiesce to the will of her counselors and court and people. They all wanted her to get married, and she could even agree that their reasons were sensible even if they themselves seldom were. 

 

“Very well,” Snow heard herself say, and was as surprised as the counselors, whose mouths opened most comically in surprise. She hastened to add, “But not to Marquis Plump – Plumpethdor! I will decide myself whom I marry.”

 

“When?” Lord Budgy was quick to inquire, seeing no doubt in his mind’s eye how Snow’s search could take ages and ages. “The time!”

 

“Oh, a winter wedding would be most elegant, all that white…” Duke Hammond said dreamingly. And so Snow found herself agreeing to find a royal consort in three months. The wedding would take place on Midwinter’s day. 

 

“Splendid!” Count Tuppence exclaimed.

 

“I will happily assist in all the wedding preparations,” Duke Hammond promised. 

 

“Oh this blessed day!” Lord Budgy burst into tears. 

 

“Marquis Plumpethdor will be so disappointed,” Lord Trombone sighed. 

 

-o-

 

With first the surprise betrothal to Marquis Plump and then agreeing to find someone to marry in three months’ time, one can understand the fact that Snow didn’t notice the absence of her friend and confidante until the next day, when she waited for him to arrive for their daily ride in vain. She wanted badly his opinion of the situation she had gotten herself into and had rather looked forward to his mocking jests and imitations of the counselors. But the Huntsman did not arrive, and discreet inquiries revealed that he had not been seen since the feast of the night before. Suffice it to say that Snow was more vexed than worried. Eric liked to come and go as he pleased, but couldn’t the damnable man see that now really wasn’t the best of times to go to traipse in the wild? 

 

Besides, Snow’s morning had started wretchedly enough. First she had called on Marquis Plump to explain that the news of their betrothal had been a great mistake, and she had had to endure the sight of a man crying noisily while gulping down a dozen boiled eggs at the same time. After a half-hearted apology and letting the marquis know it really had been all her counselors’ fault, Snow had left hurriedly, leaving Marquis Plump to take comfort from his mashed potatoes. 

 

Although the news and gossip travelled through the castle like wildfire, and everybody from the highest courtier to the lowest bedpan emptier knew what she had come to say to Marquis Plump immediately after she had said it, if indeed not even before, it still had to be announced officially in front of the whole court. And so Snow had gritted her teeth and had told in the most regretful voice she could muster that she couldn’t marry Marquis Plump – Plumpethdor, even though he surely would make a most wonderful husband to some lucky lady. 

 

Of course it had then proved impossible for Lord Budgy to remain silent and not to exclaim, “But she is going to marry!” And now everyone knew she had only three months to find a royal consort, and they were all looking at her, the women whispering and the men simpering, trying to catch her attention and favor. All except Lady Sonia, who casted dark looks towards Snow, murder in her eyes. No doubt the bride of Duke Gherkin was furious that Snow’s hunt for a royal consort was threatening to upstage her own upcoming wedding.

 

The afternoon had hardly been better. Duke Hammond had laid siege to the queen’s chambers and had determinedly slung samples of expensive fabric one after another for Snow to choose from. Apparently, there was a lot she had to choose; the color of the dresses and drapes and servants’ uniforms and flowers and carpets and linen and so worth, and all of it had to be decided as soon as possible, for the preparing of a wedding took considerable time, if one didn’t want to make a botch of it, like some people who shall remain nameless. 

 

Duke Hammond assured Snow that he most assuredly would direct all of his attention to create her the most magnificent wedding of all of the kingdoms that had ever been seen or heard or otherwise witnessed. Snow did not doubt it, for it was well known that Duke Hammond liked to plan weddings and had proved to be rather good at it. He had been quite listless and unhappy lately, for unfortunately there had been a lull in the weddings, and he had not planned one since his own son William had married Lady Audrey in a most spectacular and tasteful ceremony. To Duke Hammond’s consternation, Duke Gherkin and Lady Sonia had refused his offer of help, believing they could plan their own wedding better than him. Duke Hammond didn’t held very high hopes about the outcome of their ceremony, for he had heard that Duke Gherkin’s staff had been seen ordering pigeons, to release them to the sky or to put them in a pie he didn’t know, but in any case there were so many things that could go wrong with birds. It was a sure recipe for a catastrophe. There would be no birds of any kind at the queen’s wedding.

 

As the fabric samples seemed to never end, Snow had finally just randomly pointed to a bunch of them and said, “Those! And make everything else blue.” The color blue had somehow come to her mind, perhaps because she had thought suddenly that Eric’s eyes were strikingly blue. Although Duke Hammond looked a little skeptical and had muttered something about the harmony of the color scheme, that had fortunately been the end of that dreary business. Snow had swiftly, but with great dignity, fled to the stables, where she had, as had already been told, proceeded to wait for Eric. Who had not come. So, the whole thing was quite maddening, and how Eric had the gall to choose that day of all days to be elsewhere!

 

-o-

 

Snow might have forgiven the Huntsman if she had known what had befallen him. Or maybe not, for it was true that Eric had left the castle in a hurry to avoid all the annoying wedding preparations that were sure to follow the announcement. He couldn’t bear the thought of witnessing the simpering fools planning Snow’s wedding to that oaf Plump, couldn’t watch her become the wife of the most infernal man, condemned to a life of misery and appalling table manners. 

 

And so the Huntsman had deemed it wise to leave the castle, before he could carry out his urge to violently shake the counselors and squeeze Marquis Plump’s flabby throat until the man keeled over. He trudged to the edge of the Dark Forest, gloomy and disappointed. The forest was not full of horrors as during Ravenna’s reign, but people still avoided going there, the old fears deeply ingrained and whispered in front of hearths during stormy nights. However, the forest’s dreary look suited Eric perfectly, and without a second thought he entered the forest, wanting solitude and quiet and to be far away from any heartless queens and their stupid wedding plans. 

 

But the loneliness of the bare trees only highlighted his own desolation, and the cheerless cry of the birds reminded him of the chatter of his queen’s magpies. And as the night grew old and was ready to let the first rays of morning light peek through its fading black, Eric sighed and turned towards home. He hadn’t taken any provisions or any of his possessions with him; he had never really thought to stay gone for long. Someone would have to watch the queen’s wellbeing and make sure her future husband would treat her with according respect and reverence and not make any untoward and improper advances. 

 

However, the Huntsman had scarcely taken a few steps, when an old man appeared from behind a tall, twisted tree. His back was stooped and he leaned heavily on a walking stick that was really just a sturdy branch. The man didn’t look very dangerous, in fact he looked like a strong breeze might knock him over, but Eric knew not all were what they seemed and so he stepped closer cautiously. 

 

“Are you lost, old man?” The Huntsman asked, curious despite himself. 

 

“Lost eh? The way is clear enough, if you could but see,” the old man cackled. 

 

Right, it would be _that_ kind of talk. Eric sighed. He really had no time for nonsense; if Snow discovered he had left the castle amid the ridiculous betrothal news, there surely would be hell to pay. For now that Eric really thought of it, he had a hard time believing that the queen would consent to marry Marquis Plump of all people. And if she had – well, Eric could certainly knock some sense into her. 

 

“I’m going back to the castle; you are welcome to follow,” Eric said, not really wanting to leave an old man, crazy or not, alone in the middle of the Dark Forest. 

 

“Welcome, yes, you are very welcome!” The old man exclaimed. “I’ll give you a great gift!”

 

Growing impatient, Eric shook his head and started to leave, but suddenly there was a bright flash that blinded him, and a thunderous roar that deafened him, and something horrible that shook and rattled his bones and tore at his skin and made him howl from deep unimaginable pain. 

 

When it was all over, he lay on the ground, panting. Everything seemed fundamentally different, sharper and crisper and fiercer. Eric tried to draw air, to cough, but all that came out of him was a high whine. Alarmed, he tried to stand up, and found out that he could – but on four legs. 

 

For the most annoying, inconvenient thing had happened: he had been turned into a wolf. 

 

-o-

 

PART II: The Lone Wolf

 

“Your Highness!” Duke Hammond’s voice echoed in the long gallery, and desperate, Snow lengthened her stride, pretending she hadn’t heard him. She had managed to avoid the persistent counselor all morning, but now it seemed her luck had finally run out. 

 

“My Queen!” The duke panted as he sprinted to Snow’s side. 

 

Caught, Snow could only turn to acknowledge him, pursing her lips and trying to look suitably menacing. It was not hard. “Duke Hammond, I trust this is important. I have a pressing matter to attend to and no time to waste.” Which was the truth; Snow was going to find that stupid-looking, smirking, infuriating huntsman and _wring his neck_. He had been now gone a week and Snow had had enough. How dare he make her worry, when he in all likelihood was stuck in some tavern, drunk out of his mind and some all too willing wench in his lap trying to take advantage of his inebriated state…

 

“It is, Your Majesty, it is of the most utmost of importance!” Duke Hammond rushed to declare, face glistening with sweat, looking disheveled and at his wits’ end. “I have just heard that Duke Gherkin and Lady Sonia have changed their wedding feast’s main course from ox’s testicle and spleen with broccoli and red onions to deer roast with red wine sauce and fried mushrooms! The gall of those people!”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” Snow muttered, thinking that changing one’s main course from the horror of ox’s testicle and spleen was a sudden show of sense from the couple that had shown so little of it previously. There was now a remote chance that Snow would be able to at least enjoy the feast part of their wedding. 

 

“But the deer roast with red wine sauce and fried mushrooms was to be served in _your_ wedding!” The duke whined piteously. He looked around wildly, and then whispered urgently, “They have spies everywhere, and this proves they are ready to resort to dirty tricks to win, they have no scruples…”

 

“Win what?” Snow was almost too afraid to ask. 

 

“The most talked about, glorious, exquisite wedding there ever was!” Duke Hammond sounded baffled that Snow was failing to grasp the seriousness of the situation. 

 

“Oh, my dear Duke, if things are going to go on as they have, I have now doubt that we at least have the most talked about firmly in our corner,” Snow sighed, thinking that it would be so much easier if she just eloped. Of course one rather needed to find someone to elope with first. 

 

“They will not win, I’ll make sure of that,” the duke said darkly, all those years fighting and resisting Ravenna suddenly evident in his eyes, the warrior awakened once more to do battle as the future hang in balance, glory and honor riding at his side. 

 

“I…I’ll leave everything into your very capable hands, Duke Hammond,” Snow said, wanting to steer clear of the whole wretched business of wedding rivalry. She could only hope that she hadn’t just condemned the entire kingdom into another brutal war. 

 

“You can trust me, Your Highness,” The duke said solemnly and gave a low bow. 

 

“Yes, well…I have to go now; I have some business to take care of…” Snow turned to go, her escape so very close, but at the last minute paused, for she couldn’t quite help herself, “Roasted mutton with mint sauce – I want that on the wedding menu.” And then she fled without looking back at the dumbfounded duke.

 

-o-

 

The Captain of the Queen’s Guard stood at attention, his back ruler-straight, eyes fixed ahead. His queen paced the length of her private sitting room, clearly agitated. 

 

“What do you mean you could not find him?” The queen snapped, and the Captain tried very hard not to wince. “Never mind, that was a stupid question,” the queen then sighed, but the Captain knew better than to relax. He had dispatched patrols earlier that day at the queen’s request, having been told that the queen would like to see the Huntsman if he could be found and if it would not be a terrible inconvenience for the man. The Captain was seasoned enough to know what it had really meant: drag the Huntsman back at this very instant, whether the man himself wished it or not. 

 

The Captain of the Queen’s Guard was a most solemn man and took great pride in doing his work professionally and to the utmost of his capabilities. He had never failed to fill his queen’s command. Until now. Despite the patrols having combed through every village, town, tavern and ditch nearby, there was no sign of the Huntsman. 

 

“Did you look in the taverns?” The queen had a dark look in her eyes. “Did you question the wenches? One of those devious women could have lured him somewhere to rob and to keep as…” She wrung her hands violently and kicked at the footstool. The Captain kept his eyes fixed on the purple drapes; he most certainly hadn’t noticed anything peculiar in the queen’s conduct. 

 

“Yes, Your Majesty, but no one had seen him in any of the taverns or with any wenches,” The Captain explained. Then hesitating, he plunged ahead, “We have searched everywhere. If he would be nearby, we would have found him. Maybe he has left these parts and gone, well, hunting.” 

 

“Thank you Captain, I certainly hadn’t thought of that,” the queen glowered at him. The Captain had good instincts and reflexes; they had saved him numerous times from almost certain death. A tingling sense of danger was growing harder for him to ignore and all of his instincts now screamed one thing only: Flee! He suppressed it tightly, for he would do his duty, even if it would kill him.

 

“Do you wish for the patrols to search further?” The Captain was compelled to ask, even though he didn’t think it would yield any great results. When the Huntsman wanted to disappear there was none that could find him. Although the man had an irritating tendency to question everything the Captain did and to doubt the Queen’s Guard’s competency (as if the Captain and his men weren’t the best at their job!), the Captain grudgingly recognized the man’s skill at combat and tracking. The Huntsman was also quite skilled at vexing the fair queen to the point of a total temper tantrum – apparently even when he wasn’t anywhere near Her Majesty.

 

Said queen was trying hard to keep her temper, breathing deeply with her fists clenched. Finally, she halted her pacing, turning to look out of the window. “I don’t know if it would make any difference,” her voice sounded surprisingly small. “If he wants to stay away…”

 

The Captain wanted suddenly nothing more than to find that damnable man, even if it took him to the edge of the world, just to get that fragile look away from the queen’s face. “We could venture into the Dark Forest,” he suggested against his will. His men detested the Dark Forest. 

 

The queen was silent for a moment, deliberating. Then she turned to look at the Captain, eyes and voice ringing with steel once more. It heartened the Captain. “Have you any pressing duties here?”

 

“Apart from a slight…altercation between Duke Hammond’s and Duke Gherkin’s servants, and a lone wolf, who keeps trying to sneak in to the courtyard, all is well enough. Nothing the Castle Guard can’t handle.” 

 

“Very well, you can dispatch a few patrols into the Dark Forest,” the queen said. Then she smiled slightly and added, “I’m sure your men are going to love that.”

 

“The men will do as the Queen commands,” the Captain vowed. 

 

“I’m sure they will,” the queen answered gently, her smile waning. 

 

Just as the Captain was about to excuse himself, a hasty knock penetrated the silent air of the room. The queen’s expression turned to all-suffering and she muttered quietly, “What now?” More loudly she asked, “Who is it?” 

 

“Lena, Your Highness. There are some people, who ask to see you,” a woman’s voice could be heard through the thick oak door, slightly muffled. The queen sighed, but did not answer. Lena, one of the queen’s handmaidens and a quite comely young woman of reputable background, continued, “Lord Budgy is here, My Lady.” Now the Captain could hear the strain evident in her voice. “And Count Perfidious – I mean Count Perfidant is also here. And Master Peevor, Lord Cabot, Baron Beaver – I mean Barmel, Master Colinson, Earl Whitesnake…” The list went on and on. The queen’s face whitened most alarmingly. 

 

“Captain, I find myself in need of your service,” the queen said, a slight pleading note in her voice. 

 

The Captain would have straightened up, if it had at all been possible; as he already was standing at the most rigorous attention, he stiffened his jaw and boomed at his most serious soldier voice, “Ever at your service, My Queen!”

 

“Good. Now, I need you to get me out of this room, without any of that lot out there noticing,” the queen smirked. 

 

“Yes, My Lady!” Already the Captain was calculating the different routes of escape and their success rate, and how many people he would have to subdue or kill to get the queen safely to… “Where would you wish to go, Your Majesty?”

 

“Hum, I think…I would rather like to go riding.”

 

And ride she did. For the queen’s wishes was the Captain’s command. And perhaps people are somewhat glad to know that he didn’t even have to kill anyone to get his queen safely to the stables, the mob of badgering suitors none the wiser. 

 

-o-

 

As people following this story might have guessed by now, Eric had not been spending his time at some tavern and had most certainly not been in the clutches of any wenches. Indeed, if he had met any, they would have more likely screamed bloody murder than they would have swooned and sought out his company, which had been common enough reaction until the old crazy man and his crazy mutterings and all that business of turning into a wolf. 

 

After the initial shock of transforming from a man in his prime into another kind of predator had worn of, Eric had been rather curious and somewhat thrilled. His new body fascinated him and he could not help but explore all the things he could do; how fast he could run, how high he could jump, how hard he could bite. It was exhilarating to smell all the different animals in the forest, to sense the movement and to hear the different sounds. It was a skill he had had before, but now it was hundredfold. It was a part of him in a new way, more deep and profound than he could ever have imagined. 

 

So it is perhaps quite understandable that his first action as a wolf had been to hunt down a deer and fill his belly full with raw, delicious meat. For he had been rather hungry, having left in the middle of the feast, and he had especially looked forward to the roasted mutton with mint sauce, but the blasted announcement had been given before the course had been served, and he had rather forgotten all about it after hearing the ridiculous, horrible news. Had Eric known that no one else had been able to enjoy the dish either, he might have felt a little better.

 

Be that as it may, the Huntsman had enjoyed his new skin for a time, until he had remembered who he really was and where he had planned to return and who by now surely waited him with murder in her eyes. Most importantly, he remembered there was to be a wedding, which he had to stop at any cost. That was when Eric felt the more unfortunate and inconvenient aspects of his transformation. 

 

It was no use to hunt for the old man; he had vanished into thin air and Eric couldn’t even pick up his scent with his new sharp nose. There was no sense in roaming the forest, hoping that some solution would present itself; the Huntsman didn’t believe in that kind of luck. Anyhow, these kinds of transformations usually wore off with time. Baron Barmel had been turned into a beaver some years past, and although the situation had been somewhat uncomfortable for all and hilarious to some, the enchantment had ended as suddenly as it had begun. And if Baron Barmel was now called Beaver more often than not, it could not be really proven that some of his unfortunate habits had been born following the time spent as a beaver. He could have picked up that habit to scrunch his teeth anywhere. Keeping an ever growing pile of twigs and wood in the corner of his room was harder to explain, however.

 

Only other reasonable action left then, was to go back into the castle and try to get Snow’s attention and wait (and pray and hope) that the spell would end soon. It was rather easier said than done. To Eric’s ever growing annoyance, people tended to be rather violent towards wolves when they weren’t fleeing from them in terror. Also, it turned out that the castle guards were quite adept in their jobs; there was no getting past them into the castle’s courtyard. Normally that would have made Eric quite happy, but now that he himself had to get inside the castle in secret, it was only irritating and frustrating and wasting valuable time and anything could be happening inside the castle – what if Snow was getting ready to marry that buffoon in that very moment? 

 

For six days and six nights the lone wolf brooded and stalked the lands around the castle, looking a way in that didn’t exist and waiting a chance that never seemed to come. In his desperation he even thought of resorting to violence; surely it would be the guards’ own fault if they refused to get out of his way…Luckily, on the seventh day, the queen rode out of the castle with only the Captain of the Queen’s Guard accompanying her. As glad as Eric was, he would have rolled his eyes in dismay if he had known how a wolf rolled its eyes. The Huntsman had told Snow thousands of times that one guard was wholly insufficient and criminally inadequate for the protection of the queen. Did she ever listen to him? Of course not. The fact that Eric and Snow always rode with just one guard – and that only for appearance’s sake – was beside the point, it was quite different, and anyway, Eric would always protect her. (Not to mention Snow was quite good with a sword herself.)

 

The wolf followed the horses with his nose rather than with his eyes, knowing that revealing his presence prematurely would only lead into screams, curses and violence. Not that he had really any idea how to present himself without causing alarm, or how he could get Snow to realize who he was before all hell could break loose. Well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. However, the Huntsman arrived at the metaphorical bridge sooner than expected, for the horses stopped at a small clearing and their riders dismounted. The dreaded moment had come.

 

Nervous, Eric slunk closer, reminding himself of the importance of his mission. He had once accidentally heard how Marquise Plump had murmured sweet nothings to someone. At first, it had been hilarious to hear how the object of the marquis’ attention was “such a sweet, tender lamb”, then a little baffling when it was continued with “your tasty, delicious, mouthwatering loins”. It had been quite disturbing to realize the marquis was very much alone, only a freshly slaughtered lamb for company. And although Eric now could maybe, just a little, understand the temptation and bliss of fresh meat, the blood still warm…He was a wolf! What was Marquis Plump’s excuse? 

 

The wolf hid in the bushes, eyes fixed on Snow. She looked as beautiful as ever, dark hair windblown and trying to escape its fastenings, the simple green riding dress fitting the lithe body most distractedly. She gave her reddish-brown mare a pat and a kiss and then let the horse wander freely in the clearing. The Captain of the Queen’s Guard stood in permanent attention, stiff as a ramrod, eyes looking for potential threats. The man was wholly humorless and followed Snow’s every movement like a lost puppy, but at least the man was on alert. Eric grinned and bared his sharp teeth. Maybe he could nip the Captain – just a little. The man was so annoyingly proper and severe and uptight all the time, believing he could protect the queen best. 

 

A horse gave a distressed whinny and Eric knew the animals had finally caught his scent. He stepped out of his hiding place, moving slowly, trying to appear unthreatening. But it may be hard to imagine any wolf to look harmless, and it has to be said that Eric in particular appeared anything but safe. He was a big grey-white wolf, obviously strong and fit; the leader of his pack. His eyes gleamed intensely, fixed on his prey, and as he parted his jaws, the sharp teeth were dangerous and fierce enough to freeze the heart of the bravest of men. 

 

The Captain’s horse neighed in fear and bolted. For a moment it looked like Snow’s mare would follow, but the terrified horse stopped at the edge of the clearing, hesitant and undecided. Clearly she didn’t want to leave her mistress behind. The Captain spun around and saw Eric; he paled and drew his sword. 

 

“Wolf!” The Captain yelled, and the Huntsman couldn’t help but growl a little at how the man was stating the obvious. “Your Highness, if you could mount and leave the beast to me.” The Captain was as courteous as ever, even in the face of danger. Eric wanted to roll his eyes badly and resolved to learn how at the earliest opportunity. 

 

“Really Captain, I am quite capable…” Snow muttered and stood her ground, staring at the wolf, her expression alarmed and fascinated at the same time. A few cracks appeared in the Captain’s stony façade, frustration and vexation apparent. Ha! Eric thought ungenerously. Let someone else suffer the queen’s bigheadedness for a change. Eric stopped a safe distance away from the man, sitting on his hind legs. He hoped he wouldn’t have to resort to wagging his tail – he most certainly wasn’t a dog. 

 

“It must be the same wolf that has been trying to sneak into the castle for a meal. It must be starving to seek out humans,” The Captain said, wary and clearly calculating how to best dispatch Eric to greener hunting lands. Eric flashed his teeth, just a little. 

 

“It doesn’t look underfed,” Snow mused, stepping closer to the wolf, “In fact, it doesn’t look like it wants to eat us at all.”

 

“Your Majesty! I have to protest!” The Captain sounded terrified. “Please stay back, it will attack you!”

 

“Nonsense, it will not hurt me,” Snow said, certain, and came closer to Eric slowly, as if she was approaching some small timid animal, careful not to frighten it away. The Huntsman didn’t know if to weep or laugh – that was his girl! Ridiculously brave, always compassionate and terminally curious. He should have known that she would meet a wolf with open arms; hell, she had once stared down a troll. Snow inched ever closer, her beautiful, mesmerizing eyes fixed on Eric. The Huntsman couldn’t have known that his gaze was equally arresting; his eyes had been the only part of him that had stayed the same. 

 

Snow looked into the deep blue of the wolf’s eyes and whispered, amazed, “Eric?” The Huntsman’s heart thumped almost painfully, his name from her lips such a sweet sound. He couldn’t help but be immensely proud, for this proved yet again why Snow was the queen: she was all that was good and true, but she was quite brilliantly smart besides. 

 

-o-

 

PART III: Suitable Suitors

 

When the queen came back from her ride, it didn’t surprise the people as much as you might think to see her bringing a lone wolf back to the castle. All knew that the queen liked to collect strays (animal and human alike, one just had to look at the Huntsman), and it was a sovereign’s prerogative to do as they pleased. Besides, many rulers were said to have all manner of exotic pets. Many older people still remembered how King Lucas, the queen’s grandfather, had been rather overly fond of ferrets. But perhaps the less said about that, the better. In any case, a great wolf was certainly very royal, and if the animal’s big, sharp teeth were somewhat alarming, well surely it would be kept in a cage. 

 

However, it soon became apparent that the queen had no intention of keeping the beast in a cage, or anywhere else suitable for a dangerous animal, but in her very own private chambers. In no time at all it was decided among the breathlessly chattering servants and the gleefully whispering courtiers that it really was quite unexpected and improper, even for Her Majesty, and somewhat horrifying and certainly insanitary. The queen’s maids were quite rightly beside themselves, not to mention the esteemed counselors.

 

Had they known that the wolf was really the Huntsman, they would have certainly been even more horrified. But the queen had no intention of telling anyone what she had discovered, and if the Captain of the Queen’s Guard suspected, he knew enough to keep his mouth shut and play dumb. Although many tried to loosen his tongue with wine or sweet cakes or kisses, the Captain only repeated the same tale: they had happened upon the wolf whilst riding and the queen had taken a liking to it, talking to it gently. (What she had said, the Captain had most assuredly not heard.) And when birds and horses and all animals seemed to love their fair queen, how could a wolf do anything but follow her home?

 

Most people grudgingly admitted that what little they had seen of the wolf before it was shut in the queen’s chambers had shown the beast to be completely in the queen’s thrall. It had obediently followed the queen close at her heels, its glittering eyes fixed on her, its jaws open in a sharp grin. Only once had it swiveled its head abruptly to glower at a group of noblemen, growling menacingly, but that was quite understandable, for even for the inferior human nose, Marquis Plumpethdor always smelled strongly of several day’s old leftovers. 

 

-o-

 

The moment that the doors to her private chambers were closed and Snow was alone again, she turned to face the wolf, not really knowing whether to be glad that the Huntsman had been found (or rather that he had found her), baffled about what had happened to him (did she really even want to know?) or vexed that Eric, in his usual manner, had made an already troublesome situation even more difficult. She settled on all three.

 

“What on earth happened to you? Have you any idea how worried – how inconvenient this is?” 

 

The wolf gave her a short growl, looking annoyed. Snow tried to remind herself that it couldn’t be easy to suddenly transform into an animal and very likely Eric was having a hard time adjusting – but the thing was, she was fairly certain that Eric had had no trouble settling into the skin of _a wolf_. It was practically already his second nature. All this past week he had probably had the time of his life, hunting in the forest, doing whatever wolfs did, while she had feared he had – 

 

“So how did you manage to turn yourself into a wolf?” After a brief silence and an incredulous look from Eric, Snow blushed. “Right, you can’t talk.” She had somehow forgotten that part, for the Huntsman was always ready to meet her words with his own; deflecting, teasing, advising, consoling, musing, always answering, if only with one word. 

 

Snow sat down on a settee, the weight of the situation suddenly pressing in on her. What if Eric would never transform back into himself? What would she do then, without him? She could imagine all too well the terrible future: she would have no one to talk to, when the counselors and courtiers tried to drive her mad with their stupidity; she would have no partner in crime, escaping the confines of the castle with her; no one who would look at her and see just _her_ , not the queen.

 

Something warm and soft pressed against her hand. Snow raised her head, her smile watery. The wolf had come to sit by the settee, nudging her gently with his muzzle. She answered by stroking his forehead, the fur surprisingly silky beneath her fingers. They would be alright. He would turn back into himself; she would find a way. 

 

“I think the best we can do at the moment is wait,” she said carefully, conflicted. Snow wanted to find a solution that instant, to find whoever had done this to Eric. At the same time the realities of the situation were quite clear. She hadn’t any clue on how to start solving the matter and Eric couldn’t very well help her. “You remember Baron Beaver? He turned back without any help, after three months, and was himself – well, mostly himself – again.” 

 

The wolf stared at her beseechingly and gave a pitiful whine. 

 

“You’re right, we are not going to wait that long. But just a few weeks, to see if there is any change in…in your appearance.” The wolf laid his head on her lap and Snow continued to stroke his forehead soothingly. “I think it’s best if we kept this a secret for a while. This might be solved quickly, who knows, and there is already too much gossip and madness and excitement here with all the wedding nonsense –”

 

The wolf raised his head sharply, dislodging Snow’s hand, and stared at her most accusingly. Despite herself, and quite without any apparent cause, Snow blushed. “Yes well…I might have agreed to find a consort in three months…” The wolf’s expression changed into incredulity. Suddenly Snow felt very irritated. “You weren’t here! The whole mess was quite impossible…” It was so easy for him: none expected _him_ to marry. He could happily meet as many flirtatious wenches or simpering maids or scheming ladies as he wanted, and people would only gossip to their hearts content – no one was waiting for him to marry any of them. Snow just had to look at someone too long and people would be already planning a wedding. In the end, she hadn’t even needed to look at someone at all, as the case with Marquis Plump had proven. After all, a marriage was what she had been made for; it was her duty and purpose, the highest security she could offer for her people. 

 

A loud knock broke the uncomfortable atmosphere between the queen and the wolf; the former startled and the latter growled. “Come in,” Snow said quickly, standing up. She didn’t want to continue to explain the situation to Eric, afraid she might say something she would come to regret or had not intended to reveal. The topic was clearly too incendiary at the moment. Therefore she was glad of the interruption, even when the door opened and all her counselors crowded into the room, far too nervous and exited about their business to be anything but another cause for a major headache for Snow. 

 

The wolf stalked towards the counselors, growling menacingly. The counselors huddled against the closed door and someone squealed in distress. 

 

“Er – Ernie! Stop that!” Snow had remembered at the last moment that none was to know that the wolf was really Eric. Furthermore, it would seem all too odd if she had given her wolf the name of her Huntsman. The beast stopped and swiveled his head around to look at Snow. His expression was almost comical; he was clearly thinking, _you called me what_?

 

“Your Majesty…if we could have a moment of your precious time…” Count Tuppence started to say, but fell silent, when the wolf fixed his eyes on him. 

 

“Well, now that you are here, you may as well,” Snow sighed. Sometimes all the courteous, empty phrases and the needless, meaningless civility chafed her. It was quite ridiculous. And it reminded her that there would always be a barrier between her and other people, too high for anyone to cross. 

 

“Perhaps…perhaps Your Majesty would speak to us without…” Lord Budgy swallowed, looking on the verge of anxious tears, “without the wolf. It’s quite confidential.” 

 

“Nonsense! It’s not as if Eri – Ervin could understand anything.” Snow knew the counselors were afraid of the wolf; their nervousness and fear were visible on their countenance. However, she was too incensed to be accommodating. “After all, he is just a wolf.” The wolf opened its jaws wide, as if to yawn. Lord Budgy whimpered. 

 

“For the love of – Errol, come here!” The wolf trudged grudgingly to Snow’s side. “Sit down,” Snow commanded and to her astonishment Eric complied, although he wore an absolutely disgruntled expression. Snow knew he would get back at her later. “Now, what do you want to discuss about?” Although she could already guess. After all, there seemed to be only one topic on everyone’s mind. 

 

“The list!” Lord Budgy exclaimed excitedly, the menacing beast at the queen’s feet suddenly forgotten. The other counselors turned to look at him, reproaching. Lord Budgy blushed crimson and hang his head, mortified at his breech of etiquette. 

 

Snow could have cared less. “What list?” She asked suspiciously. 

 

“We took a liberty of compiling a list for Your Highness…just a few names of reputable standing…just to speed things along,” Lord Trombone said, trying to sound as soothing as possible. The counselors were all looking at her imploringly, with anxious smiles on their faces. They all looked a little disheveled and harried, as if they had not slept soundly for days. Were their jobs really so stressful and awful? Snow felt a little twinge on her conscience – just a little. 

 

“A list.” Snow was acutely aware she was starting to sound like a parrot. 

 

“To help Your Majesty,” Duke Hammond hurried to say, “after all, there are so many men clamoring for the honorable position of a royal consort – and I have to say, not all of them from very respectable backgrounds – that we felt it would help, if we were to make a list –”

 

“Just some suggestions, the persons that have the most desirable qualities…” Count Tuppence drew a sheaf of paper somewhere from the folds of the great black robe he always favored. He probably thought it made his small stature look imposing, when in truth it only made him look slightly ridiculous – as if he was wrapped in a too big sheet. 

 

Snow took the offered papers, ignoring the wolf’s low snarl. There were ten papers, all of them full of names – noblemen, courtiers, magistrates, even a couple of horribly rich tradesmen – and all were accompanied by a list of their good and bad qualities. There had to be over fifty names in all. 

 

“Well, thank you,” Snow tried to sound appreciative. “I will certainly read this with great, ah, interest.” _Before_ , she thought uncharitably, _I toss it out of the window_. 

 

“Well, we also thought…we felt it prudent to…” Lord Budgy hedged, clearly uncomfortable. 

 

“As there is so little time left to Midwinter’s day, we thought it necessary to compile a schedule.” Lord Trombone said and glanced meaningfully at Count Tuppence, who started to reach inside his robes once again. 

 

“What schedule?” Snow asked alarmed, fearing the worst. She was offered another sheaf of paper that, upon further inspection, was comprised of names and dates in a complex looking chart. 

 

“We have scheduled a dinner with all the applicants on the list,” Duke Hammond explained as if the matter was self-evident. “We admit that it could be little difficult for Your Highness to choose a consort without meeting any of the suitable suitors first, and as the time is of the essence, we made a schedule that allows Your Majesty to meet all of them before the end of the deadline.” 

 

“I’m…” Snow was quite speechless. The wolf whimpered with commiseration. The counselors beamed as if they had done something exceptionally clever and exceedingly helpful. Snow wondered if she would seem too much like Ravenna if she were to chop some heads off. 

 

“The first one is not until tomorrow evening; we though Your Majesty would want to study the list tonight,” Lord Budgy told, sounding very self-satisfied. He no doubt believed that they had done the queen a great service. 

 

“How…thoughtful,” Snow forced through gritted teeth, clenching the papers in her hand. She knew she couldn’t refuse; she had after all, rather stupidly one might add, made the promise of finding someone to marry. And here was a list of many someones. Yippee. 

 

“Then we’ll leave Your Majesty to contemplate which of the suitors could be the prince of your generous heart,” Lord Trombone gave a low bow and smiled his special sugary smile that told he too was rather pleased of himself. 

 

One after the other, bowing and smiling, the counselors trickled out of the chamber. Duke Hammond was last, but before he went, he cast a conspiratorial look towards Snow. “Your Majesty, perhaps you would be relieved to know that the wedding preparations are going splendidly.” He practically quivered with poorly suppressed glee. “I have laid several baits for the – well, Your Majesty surely knows who I mean – and they have taken them! The preliminary wedding program – all fictitious of course – especially proved too tempting for them to resist, they have already copied some of it into their own –” 

 

“That’s…” Snow hurried to interrupt, as the mad glint in the Duke’s eyes was a clear sign he would not stop anytime soon. “That’s certainly inspired. But I better take a closer look at this list now. As you all said, there is no time to waste. I have a lot of people to meet, lot of food to eat.” Snow brandished the papers rather manically. 

 

“Of course,” Duke Hammond bowed again, reversed out of the room still bowing, and carefully closed the door after him. 

 

Snow slumped to the settee. Bracing herself, she glanced at the list and winced. Some of the names definitely belonged to people she would rather not spend even a minute alone with let alone dine with them a whole evening. The wolf crowded against her legs, his blue eyes staring at the list as if he wanted to shred it apart into tiny, unreadable pieces and then piss on it for good measure. 

 

“I know,” Snow sighed, feeling defeated. “Do you think I should reinstate capital punishment?”

 

The wolf gave a low rumble that sounded suspiciously like a purr. It seemed his answer was most assuredly a loud _yes_!

 

-o-

 

The next two months were the most hellish Snow had ever experienced – and she had once been imprisoned in a dank cell by a murderous witch queen, having next to nothing, and suffering from chronic, but wholly understandable depression – and how she did not run away from it all in the dark of the night to became a pirate, she never could wholly explain. But god, she was tempted! (Anyhow, she would have made an awesome pirate.) The temptation grew after every horrible, embarrassing or just plain boring dinner she had to sit through, trying to act even remotely interested in the current suitor and what he had to say (it usually turned out not very much). At the same time as she tried very hard to either not fall asleep or storm out in a huff, she had to also keep a close eye on Eric, who insisted on accompanying her to all the dinners. He had developed a habit of trying to take a bite from the suitors, when no one was looking. It would have been amusing, if it didn’t result in terrified shrieks and fainting courtiers. Snow feared that soon it would prove to be impossible even for a queen to keep such a clearly dangerous beast free in the castle. 

 

After the initial shock, the list hadn’t even seemed that bad at first. Snow had thought that she could easily eat a short, two course meal with each of the suitors, converse using some meaningless small talk or maybe even find some topic that interested them both. Who knew, maybe she could find someone…tolerable. Someone she could marry, if not with love, then at least with some mutual respect and understanding. But it soon became apparent that the dinners were all to be five course meals (Snow suspected conspiracy from the counselors; not only were they trying to get her to spend as much time with the suitors as possible, they were also clearly trying to fatten her up as it was believed that chubby women had healthier babies) and although Snow tried to shovel the offered food to her mouth speedily and without any queenly dignity, no one, not even Marquis Plump, could get through five dishes in anything less than an hour – an hour that soon seemed to be endless. 

 

The first dinner with Master Peevor (the list gave him three plus’: _very rich, good head for business, well organized,_ and one minus: _businessman_ ) had went rather well, if one didn’t count the awkward silence that had lasted through the second course to the very end, only to be broken by Master Peevor’s high scream when Eric had tried to take a bite out of his ankle. But the Master had had some intelligent ideas about trade routes that Snow hadn’t minded to listening, although it had been a little discouraging to realize the man couldn’t talk about anything other than his business. Snow was fairly certain Master Peevor only wanted to be her consort so he could sign his business letters with his new title and advance his business. 

 

The second dinner had been slightly mortifying for both Snow and the suitor, as he was already engaged to someone else and organizing his own wedding with all haste. But Duke Gherkin (plus’: _eminent background, good eye for color,_ minus: _Lady Sonia_ ) had proved to be a good sport, joking about the hellishness of wedding preparations and offering his insight about harmonious color schemes. At the end of the evening they had parted on good terms, although later Snow came to think that maybe Duke Gherkin had been a little too interested to know how Duke Hammond’s plans for the royal wedding were coming along…

 

The third dinner was scheduled with Count Perfidant (plus’: _strong bone structure, vigorous,_ minus’: _missing brother, drowned mother, father killed in a riding accident_ ), who was better known as Count Perfidious. Snow was aware of the many unfortunate accidents (not limited to the three listed above) that had befallen Count Perfidant’s family and had made him unexpectedly the head of the family. Not even the undoubtedly strong bone structure could have made Snow comfortable under the Count’s cold, deliberating gaze. She had been glad of the wolf’s strong presence by her side, almost choking on her food in her haste to finish the last course. 

 

The dinners went steadily downhill after that. There was stammering Lord Cabot (plus’: _unobtrusive, rich,_ minus: _Mother_ ) who spent half the dinner blushing silently and the other half enthusiastically praising his mother, Lady Blanche, whom Snow had had the good fortune to never meet. She intended to keep it that way, for the various horror stories that circulated among the nobility and common folk all agreed on one thing: Lady Blanche could have given even Ravenna a run for her money in how to raise an unhappy, unstable, disturbed family. Then there was Master Collinson (plus’: _stylish, likes pudding,_ minus: _sleeps in a stable_ ), who was altogether a little too interested in horses, and Lord Turbid (plus: _chairman of the Noble families-special interest group,_ minus: _flat feet_ ) who couldn’t have cared less about any living thing but himself and the ever-important, noble nobility. The absolute low point was the dinner with Earl Whitesnake (plus’: _prolific, in favor with ladies,_ minus’: _prolific, out of favor with lords_ ), who spent the whole time making suggestive jokes and staring fixedly at Snow’s bosom. Snow hadn’t felt that murderous in ages, and only half-heartedly scolded the wolf, when he decided to sank his teeth into Earl Whitesnake’s crotch halfway through dinner. The Earl’s high squeal only just managed to brighten the queen’s day. 

 

After each disastrous dinner Snow quickly withdrew to her chambers, dodging terminally curious counselors, who were ready to ambush her with hopeful queries about the suitor and the dinner and the state of her queenly heart. Hadn’t the suitor been most suitable? Had the evening went well? Had the queen felt the flutters of budding love, or at least had she managed to tolerate the man? How was the spinach-broccoli pie with meat loaf? 

 

The harried queen shut herself in her chambers, banishing even her most loyal maids from her company. Only the wolf was permitted to stay and curl around the leader of the kingdom as she lay on her bed and shed tears of frustration. Time was running out, but still there was no consort in sight, and an uncomfortable thought had begun to take root in Snow’s mind. Surely not all the suitors she had met could be so terrible? What if there was something wrong with her? Maybe she couldn’t love anyone – not with the way a wife should love her husband. 

 

Snow hid her face in the wolf’s soft fur and closed her eyes, trying not to think of anything but Eric’s heart beating against her own; hoping that when she would next awake, she would be encircled by strong, familiar human arms.

 

-o-

 

PART IV: Subtle Inquiries

 

Midwinter’s day a mere fortnight away, the castle resembled a bustling, anxiety ridden hive of stinging ants. The wedding preparations progressed speedily, unstoppable like the very worst of winter storms, and nobody, least of all the wedding planner himself, seemed to be overly concerned that there was still the small matter of nonexistent groom. After sixty-three tedious, horrid or plain absurd dinners, the queen was no closer to finding a suitable consort than when she had started the formidable endeavor. Secretly, the counselors were beginning to think that their most beloved Majesty was, well, a bit finicky. How hard could it be to find a suitable consort among the very best the kingdom had to offer? After all, no one expected the queen to find true love. 

 

However, no one but the very few knew that there were more worries in the queen’s mind than finding someone to marry before the planned ceremony and before Duke Hammond and Lady Sonia managed to bludgeon each other to death. One matter above all was in Snow’s mind, day and night: Eric was still a wolf and showed no signs of changing back into his human form. Every morning she woke, hopeful again, just to be disappointed as hundred pounds of warm, panting wolf leaped to her lap. Patiently waiting for the change to occur spontaneously had ceased to be an option weeks ago; since then Snow had tried everything she could think of to break the spell. 

 

Snow had raided the most forgotten corners of the castle’s cavernous library for musty, nearly illegible tomes on sorcery and legends to the consternation of the teetering, muttering librarians. After several evenings and nights spent reading faded texts and looking at old pictures (that were sometimes very disturbing and surprisingly often quite explicit), she had only got a few farfetched ideas that she nonetheless tried. Rolling in hay, naked, under the full moon and howling like a wolf didn’t work. Circling the wolf, all the while cursing in four languages and brandishing a bunch of fir twigs also proved ineffective. So did kissing the wolf (thrice). Snow declined to try the fourth piece of advice which instructed to skin the wolf and to bury the bloody skin of the animal – after first wearing it for a fortnight. Eric was undoubtedly relieved. 

 

Not all knowledge can be found in books however. Therefore Snow had sent the Captain of the Queen’s Guard to the villages near and far to make subtle inquiries, without his uniform, just the queen’s seal as proof of the sovereigns approval should he need it. If one asked the Captain himself, being discreet was his middle name, so the queen’s task posed him no difficulty. Moreover, he had always wanted to be a secret agent, a spy in the shadows. His careful inquiries went something like this: _Hypothetically, if one would need the help of a magically talented individual – a witch for example – or someone who knows something of, let’ say animal transformation or how to break one especially, where could one find this person? All of this is of course just hypothetical. And I most certainly don’t work for her Majesty. Whatever gave you that idea?_ Alas, the discreet questions yielded no promising answers, just the usual offers of guaranteed boil removal and love potions. 

 

At the end of her tether, Snow was starting to truly fear that her best friend would be cursed to be a wolf forever. And although there were some, who, if they had knowledge of the situation, would have smirked and remarked that the wolf wasn’t _that big_ of a change from the man, Snow still felt the Huntsman’s loss more keenly each passing day. 

 

-o-

 

Duke Hammond was trying very hard not to show the queen how vexed he really was. Her Majesty trusted the Duke to manage the royal wedding preparations, and he most certainly was not going to disappoint her. Not even when certain individuals were ready to sabotage him at every turn and sent their spies and charlatans to spread chaos among the Duke’s highly competent and experienced staff. The last ploy had only been revealed that very morning; somehow someone had managed to order almost a hundred pigeons (he had counted) and half a dozen swans in the Duke’s name. The mess had been incredible. And that was before the queen’s wolf (Einar? Edgar?) had decided to have a feast.

 

The Duke took pride that the queen had absolute confidence in his skills as a wedding planner; no one could claim he wasn’t held in high repute. However, Duke Hammond had noted that Her Excellency had seemed a little distracted of late, a little half-hearted as she listened to the weekly reports of how the wedding preparations were progressing. It seemed impossible – he didn’t even want to contemplate it – but maybe those devious demon spawns had finally succeeded and their dastardly plans had cast some doubt in to the queen’s heart. 

 

No, it was impossible. Her Majesty would not fall for such obvious tricks. But – it was true that the queen looked quite downcast. She was sitting on the settee, her fingers absently petting the wolf, hardly listening to Duke Hammond as he assured her that despite small problems, the wedding preparations were on schedule. _It’s the freaking birds,_ the Duke thought despairingly. _Birds are never anything but trouble._

 

“Your Highness,” the Duke continued hesitantly, “I can assure that despite some…recent troubles, the preparations are progressing splendidly. I myself am overseeing everything personally and I take full responsibility – nothing will go a miss on The Big Day.” 

 

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” the queen said, but to the Duke’s worry she didn’t sound very convinced. The wolf yawned, baring its huge, sharp teeth. There were still a few feathers stuck to its fur. 

 

The Duke tried to suppress his wince. The beast unnerved him; always its oddly blue eyes followed him intently, and there was almost humanlike intelligence and malice in its gaze. One time, the Duke could have sworn that the wolf had rolled its eyes. But there were no escaping the wolf, if one wanted to have an audience with the queen, for the beast seemed to be always at her side. Still, it could have been worse; Duke Hammond remembered King Lucas’ ferrets quite well, and he still bore a scar on his left thumb from one of them. He always told the curious that it was an old battle wound – and it was, in a way. 

 

“Was that all?” The queen asked, sounding more eager than before. The Duke felt heartened. Maybe the queen had just been feeling a little under the weather. The usual winter flu afflicted quite many castle residents and had made Lord Budgy bedridden. 

 

“No, Your Majesty,” Duke Hammond said, gathering courage. “There is still a few matters…like the small thing with the…with the birds.” 

 

“Ah, the birds,” Queen Snow grimaced. “I’m sorry, if it disrupted your plans. That was terribly done –” The queen turned to look at the wolf. “Bad wolf!” The beast grinned and seemed very pleased with itself. “You’re a very bad wolf Er – Earnest, that was _not_ funny.” But the queen didn’t sound very upset or angry. 

 

“No disruption!” The Duke was quick to assure the queen. “The mess has already been cleaned. And I most certainly did not order the birds – there are not going to be any birds on Your Highness’ wedding – this was an obvious ploy by those infernal plotters.”

 

“Then what is the matter?” 

 

“Those saboteurs must be punished!” Duke Hammond squawked. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His pulse always rose when he thought about Gherkin and his hellish bride. “It’s just not the birds, Your Majesty. There is also the spying and the bribery; that woman has tried everything to get the royal tailors to make _her_ the dress they have designed for _you_. And some of the orders for wedding decorations were quite inexplicably lost. Not to mention the whole wedding menu debacle.” The Duke was full of righteous indignation. “And somehow the wedding invitations vanished from my chambers – I know they took them!” 

 

The wolf flashed its sharp teeth. It looked like the animal was laughing. 

 

“I’m not sure what you want me to do, Duke Hammond,” the queen said. “There is very little proof, and all in all these things are not very serious.”

 

“But Your Highness! They are trying to sabotage your wedding!” The Duke exclaimed, appalled. “Surely they can be named enemies of the kingdom?” 

 

“I…I understand your concern and I appreciate the effort and time you have spent in planning the wedding.” The queen’s voice was firm and kind. “You have always been a trusted friend and I know you have this kingdom’s best interest in your heart. You are a man of integrity, so let others play their silly games – accusing them would not be right. And it would only take away attention from the wedding.” Queen Snow smiled and the Duke felt himself agreeing. Of course she was right. But there was one thing he had to correct.

 

“My Queen, it’s true that I will always think of what is best for this kingdom,” the Duke confessed. “But I also have Your Majesty’s best interest in my heart. I hope you know that. I’ll always want what is best for you.” He meant that. She was his late King’s and friend’s daughter; she was his Queen. 

 

The wolf snorted, somehow managing to convey disgust and disbelief. _It’s only an animal_ , the Duke reminded himself, but still turned red from mortification.

 

“Oh, be quiet Edbert,” the queen retorted and rose from the settee. She came to stand before the Duke and took his hand. 

 

“I feel very honored and grateful,” she said smiling; her gentle smile made his heart soften. Duke Hammond had always thought that if he had been blessed with a daughter, he would have wanted her to be like Snow. He wanted to say that to her, but the words stuck in his throat. He only managed to give a low bow as he croaked, “My Queen.” 

 

“Now, was there still something else than the birds?” The queen’s eyes were twinkling with mirth. 

 

“Nothing of importance,” the Duke conceded. “Just the seating arrangements…where to place Baron Beaver and other problematic guests.” 

 

“Baron Beaver?” The queen asked, an odd note to her voice. 

 

“Yes, he still has the unfortunate habit of scrunching his teeth. Rather distracting to those sitting next to him.”

 

“Baron Beaver! Of course!” The queen seemed enthused; she twirled around to face the wolf and then again towards the Duke. “I have yet to have dinner with him, isn’t he on the list?”

 

“Well…” the Duke hesitated. “He is…that is…we felt that giving his experience as a…beaver, we felt that he is perhaps not the best candidate for…”

 

“I’ll have dinner with him – tonight,” the queen said. 

 

“Really?” The Duke sputtered. “I mean…surely there are others…”

 

“I’ll have dinner with him tonight, if the Baron is agreeable to it.” There was steel in the queen’s voice. 

 

“Of course,” the Duke was quick to agree. “I’ll arrange it.” Duke Hammond resigned himself to the task, already imagining the consternation of his fellow counselors. Baron Beaver would most certainly agree to have dinner with the queen – who would not? And if the queen had set her eye on the Beaver…how could the Duke disagree? 

 

“Splendid!” The queen said, her mood changed utterly from the listless misery of before. 

 

“I’ll arrange it at once,” the Duke promised, bowing to leave. The queen’s elated countenance affected his own mood; he felt somehow lighter than he had in days. Duke Hammond turned to go, but then halted, remembering the other unsolved matter. “Just one thing, Your Highness. Is the Huntsman going to attend the wedding? And if so, where can we send the invitation?” The Huntsman hadn’t been seen for months and no one seemed to know where he had gone. 

 

“Oh, he most certainly is going to attend,” the queen said, grinning almost madly. “I’m going to make sure of it.”

 

-o-

 

Eric lay in front of the hearth, his legs sprawled every which way. He looked relaxed and sleepy, almost harmless, like a big lazy dog. That, however, was a deadly misconception. The wolf was alert and ready to spring into action at the smallest sign; although his eyes were half-closed, the two people sitting at the dining table were perfectly in the wolf’s field of vision. His ears tensed as he listened intently, and sometimes he couldn’t help but grimace, as the grinding and scrunching of teeth sounded even more loud and annoying to the wolf’s sensitive ears than to the inferior human sense of hearing.

 

As he had promised, Duke Hammond had arranged a dinner for Queen Snow and Baron Beaver. Normally Eric, who had had to watch as the queen had dined with some stuck-up moron – sixty-three times –, would have protested yet another dinner that was sure to raise his hackles and lead into screams and some moderate violence. (Those bites hadn’t really been bites – the puncture marks had hardly bled at all!) However, this dinner was different from the others for three reasons. Firstly, it was vastly more entertaining to watch Baron Beaver grind his food with his huge front teeth, his small nose twitching, than to monitor some jerk trying to woo Snow. Secondly, it was hilarious to see as the queen tried to very subtly and carefully inquire about Baron Beaver’s transformation into a beaver, only to fail time and time again as the poor man was too oblivious and dense to take the hint. Thirdly, it was clear that this time Snow was only trying to dig up information and not trying to find a barely tolerable husband. 

 

“Baron Beav – Barmel, I have always been interested in the unusual and the supernatural,” Snow was saying, a slight pleading note in her voice. The Baron nodded his head and continued eating. Snow sighed and tried a more direct approach, asking, “Has anything unusual ever happened to you?”

 

The Baron paused mid-bite, his small beady eyes looking reflectively into the distance. His nose twitched. “Hmm, I can’t think of anything. I’m sorry Your Majesty, but exiting things hardly ever happen to me,” he said very earnestly. 

 

Eric snorted and scratched his belly, ignoring Snow’s murderous glare. He was nicely warm and still quite full from his unexpected breakfast feast. The wolf grinned hugely as he remembered Duke Hammond’s appalled face. It had been worth it, even if the birds hadn’t been meant for the blasted wedding; the ensuing chaos and mess had still given the Duke’s army of wedding planners and makers a pause. Eric recalled other incidents with satisfaction – stealing the wedding invitations had been a particular masterstroke and he was immensely proud of himself for executing it without any opposable thumbs. Duke Gherkin and Lady Sonia had gotten the blame for that, but it didn’t bother the Huntsman – the pair had done plenty of other good mischief, for which he wholly intended to reward them. 

 

“ _Nothing_ exceptional has ever happened to you Baron?” Snow sounded incredulous. “Surely that cannot be true.” 

 

“My Queen, I’m afraid I am just an ordinary man and I lead a common life,” the Baron gave a little laugh, abashed. His enormous front teeth glinted in the firelight. 

 

Eric yawned, stretched his hind legs and rolled over, seeking a more comfortable position. He hadn’t been this entertained in a long while. 

 

“Egmont!” Snow snapped, her small foot prodding the wolf’s side quite sharply. “Could you enjoy this little less?” Eric grinned, unrepentant. The Baron looked from wolf to queen and back again, confused. 

 

“The beast is a menace,” the queen griped, gripping her fork and staring at her untouched dinner darkly. “And to think of all the trouble I go for him…I should just leave him like that.” Snow raised her glistening eyes and stared at Eric, fierce. “How would you like that – Erastus?” 

 

Eric yawned again lazily, closing his eyes. 

 

“Unbelievable!” The fork hit the wall with a loud bang. “Eric! You haven’t been of _any_ help at all, it’s like you don’t want – I’ve had enough of this!”

 

“Oh, is that the Huntsman?” The Baron wondered, amazed but strangely accepting. “What a marvelous transformation!” 

 

Both the queen and the wolf swiveled to look at the Baron, who blushed. “That is the Huntsman, isn’t it?” Baron Beaver fidgeted on his seat, wringing his napkin. “I wondered before…Forgive me, Your Highness, if I am being terribly impertinent.”

 

“Not at all!” Snow was quick to retort, hastening to add, “In fact, I have been meaning to ask you…that is, you are right, the wolf is Eric and I need to know –” Breathless, the queen stopped herself short, visibly composing herself. Eric stood up, heart hammering. Suddenly the fire in the hearth was too hot and the air in the room too thick. The restless nature of the wolf, which Eric had been battling against for weeks, was almost overwhelming; he needed fresh air, open skies, wilderness. He wanted to go hunting. 

 

“Baron Barmel, everything I say, I say in the strictest confidence,” Snow sounded serious and authoritative; every inch the steadfast queen she could be. 

 

“Of course, of course,” the Baron was frantically nodding, his eyes alight with curiosity and joy. “I swear on my life, on my mother’s life, that I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Not even on pain of death!” 

 

“Well, I doubt it will come to that.” The small glimmer of humor on Snow’s face was lost too soon. To Eric, she looked far too serious and rigid when she said, “The Huntsman was transformed into a wolf almost three months ago. I have no idea how that happened and he hasn’t exactly been forthcoming for obvious reasons. I have searched for a way to break the spell – nothing has worked.” Snow looked intently at the Baron, her focus absolute. “What I want to know is how you were changed back, when you were a beaver? How did you manage to end the spell?” 

 

Eric stood beside the hearth like a statue, unmoving except the small tremble that shook his frame. He wanted to hear the answer, and yet – he didn’t want to hear it. 

 

“Well, Your Majesty, I don’t…it’s difficult to explain,” the Baron said, evasive. 

 

“Surely you can tell me what you did to end the transformation.” Snow’s voice was hard as nails, but Eric knew her well enough to hear the frustration and desperation simmering just underneath the surface. 

 

“That’s just it,” the Baron confessed. “I didn’t really do anything. One day, I just didn’t want to be a beaver anymore. I think that when I finally wanted to be human badly enough, I turned back. I just had to _really_ want it.”

 

The ensuing silence was oppressive and uncomfortable. The Baron fidgeted, clearly nervous, and ventured to say, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, that I can’t be of more help.”

 

“No.” Snow stood up suddenly, the dishes on the table clattering. “You have been a great help. Excuse me; I’ll have to cut our dinner short.” Without waiting for the Baron’s reply, she strode out of the room. 

 

For few agonizing seconds Eric was unusually hesitant, still petrified to his spot. Then, as if a great fog had lifted, his mind cleared and he realized that Snow had gone and he scrambled to follow, leaving Baron Beaver staring at his half-eaten dinner – lamb stew with vegetables and a side dish of freshly baked bread – very confused indeed. 

 

-o-

 

PART V: A Tolerable Solution

 

As the queen rushed towards her chambers, her dinner with Baron Beaver hastily, and some might say rather rudely, interrupted, all who saw her kept out of her way; the courtiers, who usually sought out every possible chance to get her Majesty’s notice, didn’t dare to approach her. Servants, who always had a reverent curtsy or bow and a friendly smile to offer for their fair queen, now turned their faces away and kept their silence. The ladies and lords, some more friendly with the queen than others, halted the greetings ready on their lips and pretended not to notice. All of this was not done out of malice or anger or jealousy, or any such petty human emotion. Instead it was born from respect, kindness and discomfiture. 

 

Queen Snow, striding – nay, almost running – to her chambers, not caring who saw her, not caring to greet anyone or meet their eyes, looked anything but the composed and good-natured ruler. Her subjects, knowing instinctively that they weren’t seeing the queen, but the woman, averted their eyes, giving Snow at least the illusion of privacy. By not acknowledging her, they let the tears wetting her cheeks to remain solely hers; personal and private, a secret. 

 

-o-

 

Heart hammering, Snow entered her sitting room, but even there was no peace; a maid was half-crouched in front of the hearth and startled, she dropped her fire irons, stumbling into a hasty curtsy. Lips pursed tight together, eyes stinging, Snow strode to her bedroom door; a quick glance showed that at least that room was blessedly empty. 

 

She went inside and shut the door; a hush fell over the world. Finally, Snow was alone. Here, she didn’t need to be the queen. No one was there to see the tears that still dropped from her eyes infuriatingly, against her will. No one was there to judge her and to find her wanting. 

 

Something soft touched her hand and Snow jumped back, already knowing what she would find at her side; the wolf’s unique caress had become familiar and expected during the previous weeks. Eric had somehow managed to slip inside the room just before Snow had closed the door, and now the wolf stood in front of her, blue eyes questioning. 

 

Hastily Snow turned away from him, wiping her eyes. Her heart still beat madly in her chest, like a wild bird trapped in a cage. 

 

“I’m fine,” Snow said, knowing the lie would have been transparent to even her most oblivious counselors, let alone to Eric, who always seemed to see right through her, to the very heart of her. For that very reason it _hurt_ , to know that he knew and yet –

 

The wolf gave a low whine and pressed against her legs. Snow closed her eyes.

 

“No, I’m – I just…” The words got stuck in her throat, but as always his steady presence dragged them out of her. “We are right where we started, and I don’t know what else to do.” It was remarkable how he managed to coax confessions from her just with his silence, without saying anything at all. Just looking at her like – like, there was nothing more important than her words. 

 

Almost against her will, the words started pouring out of her, a tight pressure that was finally released. “Maybe I am being unfair, maybe the Baron is wrong, maybe this spell cannot be broken – but I can’t help but feel that everything he said was the truth, that if you just _wanted_ –” Snow swallowed and stepped to the window, the world outside the glass so far away from the space that the two of them always created together; sometimes the outside world seemed unreal, like a half-remembered dream when everything was so vivid and bright with Eric’s eyes on her. But really, it was the other way around; the space between them was the mirage that covered the real world that lay outside his pull. 

 

The anger drained from her, leaving only tiredness and sadness in its wake. It was futile to fight against the real world. 

 

“I know why you don’t want to change back. You are afraid I’m going to ask you – to ask you to marry me. To be my consort. I know you don’t want that.” Snow couldn’t look at him, so she kept her eyes at the blurred glass in front of her. “And I confess, I…I would have preferred it to be you, but no matter – you’ll stay as my friend, won’t you?” 

 

She didn’t get any answer, not even a low whine. The wolf was unnaturally quiet and still. Snow strode abruptly to the door and opened it wide, eyes now dry. “Please leave, I want to be alone.” She was proud of how her voice sounded calm and collected. “I have to make some decisions. I have to pick someone.”

 

The wolf didn’t move for a long moment, but as Snow continued to hold the door open, he finally slunk out of the room. Snow breathed deeply and let the door close, only then noticing how her hands were trembling. She clenched her fists, nails digging painfully into skin. She had something she had to do. 

 

It was time she honored her promise to the counselors, and most importantly, to her people. It was time to choose a consort. 

 

-o-

 

Overwhelmed by thoughts and feelings that Eric hadn’t let himself feel – or perhaps the better word is _acknowledge_ – for a very long time, the wolf let his instincts take over. He ran and ran, the sounds, the smells, the sights, the whole world just a blur, a rush of wind. After an immeasurable time he found himself in the middle of a forest. The Dark Forest, to be precise. 

 

Eric growled. _Just perfect_ , he thought. Of course he would end up in this rotting freaking dump of an excuse of a forest. Agitated, the wolf stalked over twisted tree trunks and gnarled roots, turning back and then turning again, going over circles, no destination in mind. Snow’s words ran in his ears; the impossible, unbelievable words. 

 

Didn’t he want to get his human form back? Hadn’t he done everything to end the spell – true, there hadn’t been that much to do, but that was hardly his fault – and hadn’t he waited and hoped for a resolution? She had claimed that he _didn’t want_ to change back. Surely all the ridiculous wedding preparations had addled her brain. As for him being afraid of the queen asking _him_ to be her consort…it was even more absurd. Firstly, he was not afraid – the thought about her asking that (the thought about _marrying_ her) hadn’t even entered his mind! ( _Liar._ ) And her claim that he didn’t want to be her consort, that was – well, he simply hadn’t thought about it. At all. ( _Liar._ )

 

All of these were futile thoughts anyway. For it was impossible. No one would endorse him as the queen’s consort. His name was not in the List. It never would be. Eric had accepted that a long time ago. He could be her friend and confidante and protector; he had always been glad that he could at least be that much. He had been a common soldier, and now he was just a common huntsman. Queens didn’t marry his sort, they didn’t love – 

 

Eric let loose a hair-raising howl. A flock of ravens took to flight, bursting from the trees to the grey sky, their screams echoing long after they had gone. Exhausted, the wolf paused his restless pacing. 

 

It had always been impossible. He had known that from the start. 

 

But none of it mattered. Eric remembered Snow’s tearstained face, the iron control she tried to cling to as the pressures of everything – those moronic counselors, the inane suitors, the blasted wedding, the devilish spell, and mostly Eric himself – tried their damnedest to crush her. He should be at her side, right that very moment, helping her shoulder the burden, and not causing more grief. 

 

The wolf howled again, frustrated beyond all measure. He could be of no help as an animal; he couldn’t reassure her, couldn’t tell her that he would always be there for her, that he would always be her friend no matter who stood beside her throne as her consort. Couldn’t say that she was wrong, that although it was impossible, he wanted – oh, how he _wanted_ to be the one at her side! 

 

And while he was howling his misery and rage in the woods, scaring every living thing in a hearing distance, Snow was going to pick someone – was at that very moment probably choosing one of those idiots to marry. For Eric knew her; knew her determination and honesty and pig-headedness. She had made a promise and she was going to keep it, damn the consequences to her future happiness. Snow wasn’t going to wait anymore; she thought that dragging things out would just make things more painful, would give her too much time to second-guess herself. 

 

Eric knew her. He knew what she really meant, when she said, _I would have preferred it to be you_ –

 

The wolf growled, sharp teeth gnashing. He was such an idiot. So certain he knew her, all of her, but that had been his greatest self-deception. Eric had wilfully closed his eyes to the myriad of feelings visible every day in her face: the longing, the want, the love – the hope. For it would have been too painful to know, how her feelings matched his perfectly, when nothing could ever come of it. In other words: Eric had been a stupid coward, a bastard of a highest order. 

 

He had to go back, he had to turn back, he had to go to her, he had to –

 

“Lost again, eh?” 

 

Eric almost jumped from surprise; suddenly, somehow without him noticing, there was an old man standing just a few feet away from him. _The_ old man. The one, who had started this whole mess in the first place by turning Eric into a wolf. 

 

“Not true,” the man cackled, rotted teeth in full display, “but true, very true.”

 

The wolf growled, taking a menacing step towards the old crazy. Eric was so tempted – but it wouldn’t do to eat the man before he could end the spell. The wolf flashed a sharp grin, but the old man ignored it as well as the dangerous glint in the beast’s eyes. He continued to smile benignly, leaning on his walking stick. 

 

“Good gift, yes?” The old man nodded to himself. “Good gift, they say.” 

 

Eric rolled his eyes. If the man would just get his big whopping crazy over with already and proceed with the transformation. Eric hadn’t the time for this nonsense; he had to go back to Snow – preferably as a human. The wolf growled again, more pointedly. 

 

“Impatient, eh? Always so impatient, men are,” the man mused. “I don’t give my gift just to anyone, no. A man I once made a fish, another a bird. And then there was the beaver…” Suddenly the man’s eyes zeroed in on Eric’s; his gaze seared right through the Huntsman, ageless, merciless and knowing. “But always, I did not give anything they didn’t already have.” 

 

Then the world turned again: a bright flash blinded the wolf, a thunderous roar deafened him, and something terrifying, but now also familiar, shook and rattled his bones, tore at his skin, making him howl from pain and fear.

 

Then it was over and Eric woke to a duller, more muted world. But it was a wonderfully familiar world – a world where he was human again. A naked human, alone in the middle of the Dark Forest. 

 

“You couldn’t have spelled me some clothes? Or at least an axe?” No one answered and Eric burst into a manic laugh. 

 

-o-

 

Snow was deep in counsel with her counselors, when the Huntsman burst into the Council’s meeting chamber; the heavy oak door crashed into the wall as Eric strode into the room, out of breath. His rude manner of entry aside, he was a sight that was not usually seen in the chambers of the honorable Council. Eric’s hair hung wildly around his face, there was a smear of mud on his cheek and he wore old, patched clothes, which were clearly too small for his big frame. In short: he looked like the village idiot. 

 

A stunned silence fell into the room. It did not last long; the queen, almost afraid to believe her own eyes, rushed to the Huntsman and fell on his neck. “Eric! _Eric_.” The counselors stared, aghast. This was not, most certainly, a very dignified behavior. 

 

“You are back,” the queen murmured against the Huntsman’s chest as his arms came most scandalously around her. “But –” To the counselors’ immense relief, her Majesty disengaged from his embrace and took a step back, lifting an enquiring eyebrow. “What on earth are you wearing?” 

 

Surely it was impossible, but it almost seemed like the Huntsman blushed. He fidgeted and one of his big hands tried to tug the tight, threadbare shirt lower without much success; more than a sliver of his abdomen was visible to all and sundry. “Well, let’s just say that I owe some farmer five gold pieces,” the Huntsman shrugged, seemingly nonchalant. 

 

“Five gold pieces for those rags?!” Count Tuppence exclaimed. “You sir, have been robbed.”

 

“Well, these and a horse. And I was in a hurry,” the Huntsman said, all of his attention on the queen, who had not taken her eyes of him once since he had entered the room. “I –” He sounded uncommonly hesitant, unlike his assured self. “I hope I am not too late.”

 

“If you mean the wedding, then no – you have sufficient time to…make yourself presentable.” Lord Trombone wrinkled his nose, wondering where on earth the Huntsman had been, for he smelled worse than usual. Really, the man’s aversion to a good, scented bath was not natural. “The Midwinter’s day is still ten days away – although there is no time to waste. Might I recommend the services of the castle tailor?”

 

The Huntsman let a sound escape that resembled uncannily the growl of some angry beast; the counselors couldn’t help but shiver a little. “Thank you, Lord Trombone, for your kind suggestion. I’ll take it under consideration.” Although the words were courteous, the wide toothy grin accompanying them was most disturbing.

 

Before things between the counselors and the Huntsman could escalate further (of which they all had amply experience), Lord Hammond hurried to say, “I suggest that we take a short break from this meeting. Get some fresh air, something to eat. And I really need to inspect the wedding orchestra – they were still horribly out of tune yesterday. I might have to sack the trombonist.” 

 

“But we have to still –” Count Tuppence tried to protest, but was quickly interrupted by the queen. 

 

“Excellent idea,” Queen Snow said, still intently watching the Huntsman. The counselors got the hint; most of them peevish and all of them curious, they none the less slipped out of the door, leaving the queen and her Huntsman alone in the empty room. 

 

Alone together, Snow searched for words and could only ask, “How?” Eric knew what she meant: how he was human again, how he was here, how all of this had happened in the first place? 

 

“Met some crazy old man, had some epiphanies – it’s a long story.” None of it mattered. Only one thing mattered, _everything_ hinged on it, on her answer. He had to know – although her answer might very well slay him, the suspense of not knowing was almost as bad. “Did you pick someone?”

 

“Yes,” Snow said, and Eric’s world shattered. “I was just telling the counselors,” she continued, oblivious that nothing would ever be the same again. He loved her and he had lost her. She was going to marry another. 

 

“Who? Who did you choose?” He managed to ask, though his throat felt drier than the desert. 

 

“You. You idiot.” Her smile was brilliant. “It was always going to be you.”

 

“But I…you…” Eric knew he sounded incoherent at best; he couldn’t believe that there might still be hope, didn’t know how she could have chosen him, when he had done nothing but avoid her feelings, pretend his own didn’t exist, and run away and get turned into a wolf for good measure.

 

“I did some thinking.” Snow sounded solemn, the happiness in her eyes equal in size to the seriousness. “I decided to trust that I _know_ you… I decided that I will not take no for an answer.”

 

Eric couldn’t help the small bark of relieved laughter that escaped him. She was amazing. He would never deserve her, not in a million years. “From me or the counselors?”

 

“Both.” She grinned. “I was persuading them, telling how this is an obvious, easy solution. Trying to sing your praises – you realize that your rather uncivilized appearance might make things a little more difficult…” 

 

He could do nothing but grin back; suddenly the bleak future he had imagined had vanished and all was frighteningly, excitingly open. “Well, best to not get them hope for miracles.” 

 

“I don’t expect you to change – I don’t want you to change a bit.” Snow sounded earnest, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes as she continued, “Although…no wenches.”

 

“No one but you. Not ever.” Eric meant to sound teasing, but the words came out grave; a promise. 

 

“So…” Suddenly Snow seemed almost shy, her cheeks coloring. “What do you say?”

 

“Are you asking me to be your consort?” He still couldn’t quite believe it. 

 

“I’m asking you to be my husband.” 

 

“I would be honored to be your husband,” Eric said, aching to touch her. Suddenly she was standing too far away; he couldn’t remember the last time he had held her hand in his or touched her smooth cheek with his fingers. 

 

“But…?” Snow was still hesitant; Eric cursed himself silently – it was his fault for making her doubt his regard for even a moment. 

 

“No buts.” He took the few steps required to reach her swiftly, eagerly. Cupped her neck, his thumb rubbing her warm skin. Heard her sigh. “I’m done with objections. Done with being a coward.” He swept his thumb to the corner of her mouth. She parted her lips slightly. “I _want_ to be your husband – I love you.”

 

“Good,” she exhaled, eyes fixed on his mouth. 

 

“Not to mention there is no one more suitable for the job,” he couldn’t help but add. 

 

“Really?” She asked, her lips now tantalizingly close to his. 

 

“Yes,” he growled, making her laugh.

 

“I quite agree –this is…this is a rather tolerable solution…” The rest of her words were lost as Eric finally claimed her mouth with his own and proceeded to show Snow just how much he thought he was up to the job.

 

When the counselors came back from their break, they got their third shock of the day. (The first being the queen announcing her choice of a fiancé, and then the fiancé in question appearing to the scene dressed like the court jester.) After a very hasty and mortified retreat, the counselors agreed it was all quite impossible and well above their pay grade to fix. Best to just get the queen married as soon as possible, and all the accompanying madness over with. And after that, well…they were already counting the days for the heir to the throne to be born. 

 

-o-

 

The readers may be rest assured that although Queen Snow’s and her Huntsman’s future hardly lacked trials and tribulations, they got to share them together, side by side. And as promised, that future began with the most magnificent wedding of all of the kingdoms that had ever been seen or heard or otherwise witnessed. All agreed that Duke Hammond had done an exceptional job; the wedding ceremony was tasteful and touching (hardly a dry eye in the castle), the wedding feast lavish and delicious (although the roasted mutton with mint sauce raised some eyebrows) and the wedding program inventive but suitably traditional (the majority of the guests were too drunk to notice that the trombonist couldn’t keep a tune to save his life). And all this without a single bird in sight. 

 

Even the most modest of men would feel proud and a little smug after such a feat, so it is no surprise that Duke Hammond felt quite content as he watched the revelers dance, drink and sing as the night grew older. All had gone according to plan and the queen had never looked as radiant and happy as when she had said her marriage vows. If the Huntsman could make her that happy every day hence, the Duke certainly could put aside his reservations about the match. Eric had definitely made a more dashing bridegroom than insipid Duke Gherkin, who had looked like he had swallowed a lemon, when marrying Lady Sonia the week before. Their wedding had been quite unimaginative. Many had already said that Duke Hammond had done a much better job. (And unlimited booze had nothing to do with their generous praise.)

 

The Duke sighed, suddenly a little bereft. It would be next to impossible to top tonight’s celebrations. At best, there would be about twenty years before he could have a chance to plan another royal wedding. Maybe this would be his swan song, a graceful exit, when he was at the top of his game. But still – there were so many ideas left to fulfil, so many adventurous color schemes still left to explore. Maybe he should expand; after all, someone had to plan and execute the christening ceremony of the future heir to the throne. He was undoubtedly the most experienced, the most qualified. Once again, the kingdom needed his loyal service. 

 

The Duke could already see it: it would be the most magnificent, most talked about, most exquisite christening ceremony there ever was…

 

-o-

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> No birds were harmed during the writing of this story.


End file.
